


Tying Loose Ends

by coconutcluster



Series: Roman is Repressed and a Mess [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: I THINK THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GOD, ITS 1 AM AND I JUST FINISHED THIS, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF AND ALSO ANGST, pretty strongly 'implied' prinxiety fLUFF, whoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: Roman begins to think it's time to listen to Virgil.Part 3 of Locked Out (Well, In)





	Tying Loose Ends

  A hush had fallen over the Imagination for the first time since Roman could remember.

  It wasn’t dead silence, of course - he might just go mad if that were the case - but the chitter of insects and cooing of woodland creatures had long since faded, almost in tandem with the smothered sun as it hid behind shifting clouds of charcoal, leaving only the whispers of leaves in the wind to fill the emptiness around the lone prince.    

  Roman’s eyes were trained carefully on the branches above his head. They seemed to snake around each other, an infuriating pattern that he couldn’t differentiate, though his gaze barely registered the tree itself; it was an idle activity, a distraction at best. 

  He scratched at his forearm again. 

  A line of flames erupted on the spot instantly, and he drew back his hand with a wince - he always forgot about that; no matter how many monsters he slayed, the itch continued to taunt him, until his hands found its way back to the skin crawling beneath his sleeve, and the burning persisted long after they left. It was unfair, really, to have such an ugly thing be so stubborn. How hard was it to  _ not  _ exist? Why couldn’t it just disappear like a good little nuisance?

  A dry chuckle escaped his throat - he didn’t know what exactly he was referring to with that, the markings across his arms or-

  “Roman!” 

  The creative side didn’t look back at his name; he waved a hand towards the empty field in the distance instead, watching idly as a small, white puff of smoke twisted in the air, revealing an equally white cat, too fluffy for its own good. She trotted up to his side in an instant and pushed against his outstretched hand with a low purr. A smile twitched at his lips; the cat had appeared once, right after a battle that left him seeing nothing but blurs for hours afterwards (maybe it was all the smoke, or maybe it was tears as his arms burnt worse than they had ever before, but it was blurry either way), plopping in his lap without a second of hesitation and closing its crystal blue eyes contentedly as he scratched its head after only a moment of confusion. She had shown up nearly every time afterwards, always after a battle, and always resting gently in his lap until his eyes were clear once more. Roman finally decided on calling her Meringue - both for her fur that seemed to defy gravity, and the splay of warm brown across her angular face that resembled the treat’s toasted peaks (maybe he was spending a little bit too much time with Patton in the kitchen). 

  He carded his fingers through the cat’s fur as the footsteps behind him grew louder.  

  “Roman?” A pair of beaten-up converse appeared in the corner of his eyes, laces covered in unintelligible permanent marker messages and frayed threads. Virgil dropped down beside him. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” He felt the anxious side’s eyes on him - his eyes were always trained on something, to be fair, sharp and shining and ready to lock onto a target, be it the wall or the face of a quiet prince in the middle of a forest. Roman cleared his throat, fingers still caught in Meringue’s fluffy coat. “How did you get out here?”

  “...I walked through the door.”

  “I meant to this  _ spot _ , Captain Obvious.” Virgil just snickered.

 The air was prickling with a sort of buzzing nothingness - it wasn’t nothingness at all, really; it was leaves dancing and Meringue purring and Virgil pulling grass from its roots beside Roman all at once, dancing together in a pulsing symphony around him. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to focus on each individual sound, to immerse his thoughts in their soft chaos instead of the scathing pricks across his arms.

  “You fought something again.”

  Virgil didn’t phrase it as a question. Roman glanced over at him; the anxious side’s eyes were trained on the cat in Roman’s lap, but a single eyebrow was drawn up, his lips pursed as he watched the prince’s fingers twitch ever so slightly. Roman cleared his throat and turned his gaze back down. 

  “Are you doing any better?” Silence pushed at his throat - how did he answer? Should he answer? Did he even know what he would say? 

  Virgil’s hand snaked into his, chilly to the touch but soft, grounding the creative side, and his fingers curled tighter as Roman remained quiet. “Princey, you said you would talk to me. I don’t want to push it, but nothing’s gonna happen if you don’t try-”

  “I know,” Roman said quietly, returning Virgil’s grip. “I know that. I’m fine, really, it just gets… it’s a lot sometimes.”

  “What is?”

  He repressed the bitter laugh that rose in his chest, letting a slow exhale out instead. “Everything,” he finally settled on. Meringue mewed and headbutted his stomach as his hand stilled. “It’s weird, you know? This never even seemed like a problem to me until-” He cast a sidelong glance at the anxious side beside him - his black-shadowed eyes were still stuck on the purring bundle in Roman’s lap, thankfully - and cleared his throat once more. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Quite honestly, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Virgil ran his thumb across Roman’s hand absently as he focused on nothing, his brow furrowed. “What do they say now?” he muttered after a moment.

  Roman considered ignoring the question, but Virgil didn’t move, even after the prince stayed silent for another few minutes.  _ Stubborn _ , Roman thought, a smile pulling at his lips. 

  The smile all but disappeared as he tugged gently at his sleeve. The fire blazed down his arm once more at the subtle shift of fabric, sharp and angry; he repressed a grimace, yanking the rest of his sleeve up before he gave himself away even more. 

  Black letters marched across his skin in the inky, misshapen font that had stamped itself onto the back of his eyelids, that flashed through his mind every time he suggested something to the others, that lurked just on the edge of every idea, every aspiration, every thought he had. Trails of  _ lazy _ ,  _ awful _ ,  _ stupid _ ,  _ untalented _ stained his arms unabashedly as if it was they belonged there. He half expected the ink to bleed in the rain (he knew it wouldn’t).

  “Christ,” Virgil hissed, staring at the words with wide eyes. “What-”

  Roman waved a hand through the air to shoo the question away before he could finish. “Don’t worry, there’s always more right after a video, it’s nothing new.”

  Virgil’s eyes grazed Roman’s arm, his expression smoothed with thought as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “When does it start to disappear?” he asked quietly, his voice far away.

  “Soon,” is all Roman offered. He didn’t really know, to be honest - sometimes they were gone the minute his sword brought an enemy to their knees, but other times the vicious residue of the ink stayed for days afterwards. Sometimes they didn’t fade at all and he was left to wonder what he’d done wrong. 

  Virgil didn’t respond, and the rustling quiet of the forest draped over them once more. Roman would have been happy to sit in the silence, with Meringue purring like a motorboat in his lap and the anxious side beside him, all day, but there was a messy wave of tension between him and Virgil, and honestly, it was really starting to grate at his forced-calmness. 

  “You need to talk to the others,” Virgil finally whispered. 

  Roman heaved a sigh; he knew it had been bubbling just below the surface of their conversation, but he hadn’t thought it would rise so soon. “Virge-”

  “No, Ro,” Virgil cut him off, a frown pulling at his face, “I know you’re scared. I get it- you know I do- but this is hurting you, and I can’t just sit and watch it happen anymore.” His eyes became earnest as Roman avoided them, and he leaned forward - Roman realized with a start that their hands were still interlocked in front of Meringue’s serene face - to meet the prince’s gaze. “Roman, please. I won’t stop being here, I promise, but I’m-  _ this  _ isn’t enough to help you on its own.”

  “You’re always enough.”

  Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t try to flirt your way out of this.”

  He expected the jab - truly, it’s what he’d intended - but heat still rose to his cheeks.  _ Traitors.  _ He turned his gaze back down to the cat in his lap, squinting at her fur like it held the answers to all his woes. “Fine, fine, whatever.” The anxious side’s eyebrows shot up as he whispered again, “Fine.”

  “‘Fine’ as in… you’ll talk to them?” 

  Virgil’s voice was so full of hope that Roman blushed all over again, and he swore the sun started to reappear from behind the clouds just to hear it, too. He couldn’t help but nod - it was slow, and hesitant, and a hurricane raged in his stomach at the thought of Patton’s disappointment and Logan’s cold impassiveness when they’d see the words across his arms (he’d lied for so long, kept the harsh truths to himself, but what if they thought they were right? What if they thought he deserved them?), but it was a nod nonetheless. A silent promise in return for the anxious side’s blinding smile.

  Virgil suddenly laughed.

  It was small at first - breathy, more acerbic than amused, though it brought a smile to the creative side’s face regardless as it rang through the forest around them. “What?” Roman mused, leaning back on his palms to watch the anxious side’s crooked grin in its entirety.

  “We really need to stop meeting up just to be angsty,” Virgil snickered. “We’re in the same general area all the time, but I can’t remember the last time we talked without some sort of emotional breakdown.”

  Roman opened his mouth to object… but he was right. The prince was laughing before he could stop it. “Oh my- well, that’s not really a great track record, is it?” 

  “Not- not really, no,” Virgil managed through an onslaught of giggles, ducking his head and falling against Roman’s shoulder as they persisted; Roman was almost disappointed to lose sight of his smile, but the laughter that filled the silence (how did he ever prefer the silence?) was more than enough to make up for it. “I don’t know- I really expected Patton to be my breakdown buddy!”

  Roman barked a laugh, “Breakdown buddy? Is that what I am?” Virgil’s shoulders were shaking, his face still buried in the prince’s side. Roman draped an arm over the anxious side’s shoulder with a blinding beam at his lips. “Are we breakdown buddies, Virge?” 

  “That’s not what I meant,” Virgil wheezed, “but I guess so.”

 Their laughter sizzled slowly to a stop as the sun inched into view from behind the clouds, and they fell back into a soft silence once more, though the anxious side had yet to right himself from his position at Roman’s side. Meringue had (at some point) transferred herself to sit between them, a fluffy loaf purring contentedly at their hips; Roman’s heart soared in the afternoon breeze. His head was light as helium, but he knew he couldn’t ignore the sword above it.

  “I guess I have to do this,” he said quietly. Virgil shifted with a sigh.

  “Yeah,” he replied softly, tightening his grip on Roman’s hand (which he’d yet to release). “It’s going to be okay, Princey. I promise.” The creative side didn’t respond, and Virgil finally lifted his head to look Roman in the eye, his brow furrowed but a shadow of a smile still on his face. “Do you trust me?”

  Roman closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of  the pine and cinnamon - was that Virgil’s jacket? - in the air, letting the quiet chaos of the forest finally sing to his full attention. Something about the scene seemed familiar, but he pushed the déjà vu down and returned Virgil’s grip.

  “I do.”

 

  His wrists were red by the time they made it back to the Mindscape - he’d been wringing them relentlessly since they stood from their spot in the trees, right after Meringue stretched into an arch and trotted gently back to the meadow in the distance. The scene had struck him as an echo again, but his hands were shaking so much that he’d trained all his efforts and focus on steadying them.

  Virgil raised an eyebrow when he saw the creative side’s repetitive quirk.

  “Ro,” he said; Roman’s eyes snapped to his from their hard fixation on the doorknob. “It’ll be okay.” Roman just nodded.

  His stomach turned relentlessly as he grasped the knob and pushed the door open, the words across his skin like a stream of lava dripping down his forearms. He wanted to stop, to run back to the meadow and curl up with Meringue in his lap, to leave his anxieties at the door he stood before now; he pushed forward nonetheless. It helped that Virgil had once again joined their hands. Though everything in his mind was in complete turmoil, he had something to ground him. (How odd, he thought suddenly, the embodiment of Anxiety soothing his worries with a touch. He couldn’t decide if it was appropriate or ironic - maybe both.)

  Their steps were muffled in the carpet. Voices floated up from downstairs, Patton’s cheerful lilt mingling with Logan’s occasional dry comment, and the nerves in Roman’s head and stomach alike doubled in a split second. What was he doing? They were going to hate him, they were going to think he deserved the ink embedded in his arms, they’d add more themselves- he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t-

  But Virgil squeezed his hand, just a little bit. He looked over at the anxious side to see his round eyes shining with a sweet mix of hope and encouragement, and the butterflies in Roman’s stomach fluttered for a different (significantly more welcome) reason. 

  He took one step, then another, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other all the way down the hall; he studied the carpet fibers under his boot and forced deep breaths into his lungs as they reached the stairs.

  “Ro, Virgil!” Patton cheered when he saw them, his eyes lighting up. “You’re back! I was just about to send Lo to find you!” 

  “I would not have gone,” Logan said without looking up from his book. Patton swatted his arm, and he frowned. “What? They know the Imagination better than I do.”

  It struck him suddenly, how much Roman was going to miss their easy remarks once he showed them his marks. He wanted to bottle their smiles. He didn’t want to lose them, but he knew he had to tell them. He had to do this.

  “Are you guys hungry?” Patton stood from his spot on the couch, practically bouncing to the kitchen to look through the fridge. “We don’t have a lot to eat in the house right now, but I’m sure we can figure something out-”

  “Are you alright, Roman?” 

  Logan’s voice snapped the prince out of his woeful observance. The logical side’s eyes flickered between him and Virgil, eyebrows knit as he slowly flipped his book shut, placing it on the tabletop beside him. 

  Roman opened his mouth and closed a few times before he stuttered out, “What?”

  “You seem troubled. Are you alright?”

  Patton had gone silent in the kitchen; when Roman glanced over, he saw the fatherly side standing at the side of the counter, his head tilted as he glanced up the stairs at the pair still standing by the railing. Roman’s heart raced once more - now was the time. He would have rathered fought a thousand chimeras than walk down the steps, but he didn’t have a choice, so he let Virgil’s hand slip from his grip and started his descent.

  “I have to tell you guys something,” he tried, his voice cracking.  _ Wonderful  _ start. Patton frowned.

  “Is everything okay, kiddo?” he said softly, walking to Roman’s side and putting a hand on his shoulder, eyes sparkling with concern behind his round wire frames. 

  “Well, no-” Roman faltered - what was he doing? How did even he do this? He glanced to Virgil helplessly, and the anxious side nodded once.  _ I won’t stop being here, I promise.  _

__ He was about to lose part of his family, but he wouldn’t lose Virgil. He had faith in that. 

  He pulled his sleeves up.

  A range of expressions passed on Patton and Logan’s faces like lightning, too fast for Roman to keep up with - Patton seemed to land on open shock, but Logan’s frown was a thin mask for fury that made the pressure behind Roman’s eyes increase tenfold. 

  “Roman,” Patton breathed, his hands hovering over the prince’s exposed forearms like they’d shatter if he got too close. “Kiddo, what- what are these? What is all this?”

  “They’re criticisms.” Memories flashed through his mind, and he straightened, forcing the tremors in his body down as he corrected himself, “They’re hate.” He resisted the urge to look up at Virgil, still poised at the top of the staircase. 

  Patton’s shoulders fell.  _ Don’t cry, Roman, don’t you dare cry. Not here. Not now.  _ “Why? How?”

  His breath hitched - he couldn’t see Patton’s eyes, but he’d imagined the crushing disappointment in them so often, he felt he didn’t need to anymore. “I- I didn’t do it, they just appear,” he started in a trembling voice. “They’re from viewers, I guess, people who don’t like Thomas or his content. I can’t get rid of them forever, but I can make them disappear for awhile- I fight things, monsters and villains and- and they go away for a bit.” No one responded.

_ It wasn’t supposed to go this way _ , he screamed in his head,  _ it was supposed to be okay!  _ He’d expected the silence, the tension that surrounded him and pushed at his throat like a pile of stones, but he’d hoped so much harder that he would be wrong. He’d thought, just maybe, they’d see the words and messages and hug him, offer a few words of support and be on their merry way, and everything would be okay. He’d held onto the sliver of hope with his everything. Glancing up at the silent pair before him, that sliver finally fell from his grasp.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, folding his arms in, hugging his middle and smothering the words against his jacket as tears finally spilled down his face. “I should have told you earlier- or not at all, I should have just dealt with it.” Every other choice he could have made before this point, every option he’d eschewed in favor of this- this  _ trainwreck _ , blazed before his eyes.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _ “It’s part of my role, m-my job, I shouldn’t’ve forced it on you all-” A sob rose in his throat;  _ not here, Roman, please, not now _ . “I’m  _ sorry _ .” 

  His head ached suddenly, seconds before his arms started to burn.

  It was nothing like he’d ever felt before - it was vicious, stabbing pressure, cutting into his skin like glass shards, digging into him from everywhere at once. It was a grotesque bloom of white-hot pain that spread through his body in a split second. It shocked him still and forced spots into his vision; it was an explosion. 

  Then, for a brief, peaceful second, everything was dark. Empty. Nothing.

  He heard footsteps on the stairs before the shouting around him. He felt something under his knees - the ground, it was the ground, he’d fallen, collapsed to his knees - as someone’s hands landed on his shoulders; he couldn’t see past the colors bursting before him. Everything was numb, save for the pins-and-needles in his forearms. Someone- no, more than one- they were all saying a name,  _ Roman, Roman, Roman,  _ though it took a few more times before he remembered that he was Roman. They were calling him. Whose hands were on his shoulders? 

  Roman blinked, shooing the spots from his vision. All three other Sides were crouched before him, eyes wide and faces ashen. Logan was right in front - his hands were the ones that rested firmly on the prince’s shaking shoulders, his mouth set in a tight, determined line. 

  “Roman,” the logical side said carefully, “how do you feel?”

  Roman tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry; he cracked an attempt at a smile. “Like absolute shit.”

  No one laughed, but a fraction of the tension in Logan’s stance dissipated. 

  Patton’s eyes shined with unshed tears over Logan’s shoulder, his hands clamped tightly over his mouth like he might scream if he let go - he glanced wildly between Roman and Virgil, trembling like a leaf. “Ro,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking, “oh my- kiddo, are you- are you okay?” 

   And then arms were wrapped around him; cinnamon wafted to his nose, gentle and pleasing to his buzzing senses. 

  “I’m proud of you,” Virgil muttered into his shoulder. “You did it, Princey - I’m so, so proud of you.” Roman smiled and returned the embrace, focusing on the embroidery thread of Virgil’s hoodie beneath his fingertips instead of the fatigue in his eyes, his mind, his whole body at once. 

  A second later, Patton was at his side with a death grip on Logan’s arm, cardigan askew over his shoulders. Roman met his eyes and flinched. 

  “I’m sorry, Padre,” the prince said again, his gaze fallen to the floor. “And to you, Logan. I should-”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

  What?

  “What?” Roman’s head snapped up to look at Logan, to see the ridicule in his eyes, the anger... but all he saw was resolve.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” the logical side continued, his hands curled into fists, though Roman felt that, just maybe, they weren’t directed at him. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Roman. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I’m so  _ sorry _ , Ro,” Patton blurted suddenly, curling his fingers in Logan’s shirt. “You’ve been hurting- how long? I don’t even- oh, God, kiddo, I’m so sorry, I never even knew-”

  “Pat.” The fatherly side’s mouth snapped shut. “It’s alright, really.” Patton looked ready to argue, but he just nodded, his face pinched with the effort to not cry. Roman glanced between him and Logan slowly. “You all… you’re not... angry?” 

  Patton actually whimpered at that, but he shook his head, so vehemently Logan had to push the fatherly side’s glasses back up his nose before they flew off. 

  “Of course not,” Logan vocalized sharply. His expression softened when he looked back to Roman, still tight in Virgil’s arms. “I’m sorry you’ve gone through this, Roman. It’s unfair beyond my vocabulary.” He seemed to falter, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a second before he said, quietly, “Is there any way we can help?”

  Roman’s heart soared. 

  His family was still his family; they were still there, surrounding him with open arms, kind-eyed and warm-hearted. They wanted to help. They wanted to stay. He steeled himself and took a deep breath, glancing down at his arm.

  The words were still there, scrawled across his arms in different messy handwritings… but they were a soft gray. They were faded. Roman almost burst into tears; yes, they still stained his skin, and his chest still thumped when he started to read them, but by God, they were  _ pale _ .

  He pulled Logan and Patton into his hug with Virgil, burying his face in the space between the four of them, trembling all over again with the smallest of smiles on his face.

  “You already have.”

  
  
  
  
  


  The next time Meringue settled into his lap, there was no battle to precede her.

  There were no wounds, no burnt trees or heavy rainfall, no leftover smoke or unshed tears. There was just Roman, his arms open for the cat to trot her way and hop onto his criss-crossed legs as they’d both become so accustomed to, and her serene purring danced in the evening air to the symphony of the forest around them both. 

  Roman pet her silky fur idly, his eyes closed. 

  “Virge,” he greeted easily.

  A soft snicker echoed from behind him. “How’d you know I was here?” the anxious side laughed, his footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves on his path to the prince’s side.

  “It’s October, Sunshine,” he drawled, keeping his eyes shut even as he knew a blush crossed Virgil’s face. “You’re about as quiet as a box of lit firecrackers.”

  Virgil collapsed beside him with a quiet harrumph. 

  They sat in silence for a few moments, before Roman said, “You can pet her, you know. She’s not gonna bite you.”

  “You really need to stop being right about stuff with your eyes closed. It’s giving me the creeps.” Roman just shrugged, though a smile twitched at his lips. He peeked through one eye to see Virgil hesitantly reach out to Meringue, jumping when she rammed her head into his touch, her purrs like a motorboat in shallow water. Roman’s chest fluttered at the crooked grin that broke out on Virgil’s face.

  “I told you,” the creative side mused. Virgil quirked an eyebrow at him, his head cocked to the side. 

  “How are your arms?” he asked, stroking Meringue’s head gently. 

  Instead of replying, Roman simply pulled his sleeve up, unabashed since the last time he could remember - the words were nearly gone now, a shadow on the prince’s tan skin, a whispered memory across the curve of his forearm. “You were right,” he smiled, rueful but happy all the same. “Telling them- talking to all of you, it’s… it’s done a lot.”

  “What was that?” Virgil sighed, leaning his head on his palm with a cheeky grin. “The first part? I didn’t really hear it.”

  A laugh bubbled in Roman’s chest - he reached forward and took the anxious side’s hands in his own, staring into his wide eyes. “You were right,” he repeated carefully. “Thank you, Virgil.”

  Virgil blinked, a soft smile replacing his surprised frown in a second. “No problem, Princey.”

  “I have a question for you,” Roman continued, releasing one of Virgil’s hands to pet an impatient Meringue in his lap; Virgil raised an eyebrow but nodded slowly, prompting the creative side to continue. “How do you keep finding me here?”

  “Oh.” The anxious side let out a breath, clearly relieved, and he glanced around their spot among the trees before pointing to a towering pine to Roman’s left. “That’s where you sat when we got locked out,” he said, his voice faraway. “Well, locked in, I guess. When it rained.” 

  Roman stared at the tree, then the ones around it, then at Virgil, his eyes big. “You remembered that?”

  “Of course I remembered it.” Virgil bumped their shoulders together with a smirk. “Apparently you did, too.” 

  “I don’t want to be breakdown buddies anymore.”

  Virgil flinched back, his easy smile all but disappeared completely as he stared at Roman. “What?”

  Roman forced his face into a neutral expression, interlocking their fingers absently as he pretended to think, tilting his head side to side for a moment. “I just don’t think we should limit ourselves to breakdowns, y’know? We could be, I don’t know, the crying crew, or the melancholy mates-”

  “Those are awful,” Virgil smiled.

  “...Yes, I suppose they are.” Roman lifted their joined hands and leaned forward once more. “But as long as we’re together, I don’t really care what we’re called. What do you say?”

  A blush blossomed across Virgil’s skin; his eyes fell to their hands, and a smile broke out once more on his freckled face. 

  “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, the series is complete!!! This is one of my favorite series/multichapters I've done yet, and I really hope you all enjoyed the ride! Til next time <3  
> \- Lexi
> 
> (BTW Meringue had no actual plot effects. I was stuck early on and decided to write based off my own cat, Cotton, and i liked Meringue too much to remove her from the story. I love her.)


End file.
